Horizons of the Federation: Episode I
by GAThrawn2282
Summary: Three years after the Dominion War, the Federation faces the Mortrem, a new Yuuzhan Vong/Borg-esque enemy.


**_Disclaimer: Star Trek is entirely Paramount's idea, I take no credit and make no money off of this, it's all theirs. I mean this only as a tribute to one of my favorite sci fi series! None of what is published in these pages is canon Star Trek, only the television shows and movies are authentic._**   
  


**_Disclaimer #2: Please do not use the_ Olympus_ or its characters (or the Mortrem) in your stories. Eventually, I may open this series up to the public, so that anyone can continue it, but for now, I have already selected a few people I want to continue it for me._**   
  


**_Dedication: For _Star Trek_ fans everywhere, and for the man who started it all: Gene Roddenberry._**   
  
  
  
  
  


**_Star Trek:_**

**_Horizons of the Federation_**   
  


**_ Three years after the end of the Dominion War, the Federation, Klingon Empire, and other Alpha Quadrant species are left to put their worlds, economies, and their lives back together. Here, a group of ambitious fan-fiction writers tell an epic story set in the post-war era, with a new ship and crew. Once again, the entire Alpha Quadrant will become caught in a set of events that will change everything all over again... and perhaps destroy it... It begins here..._**   
  


**_Episode I:_**

**_"First Encounter"_**   
  


All was no longer as it seemed. Everyone in the Alpha Quadrant knew it. Oh, yes, peace had settled back over all the races-- Federation, Klingon, Romulan, even Cardassian-- after the Dominion had been defeated and driven back into the Gamma Quadrant, but, instead of the somewhat tense peace they'd had before, it was somber, disheartened. People went about their everyday activities, but with less vigor and gusto than they had in the pre-war times. It was as if the universe itself were crying. Even the Klingons, notorious for their somewhat cavalier _joie de vivre_, seemed more somber. 

They had defeated the Dominion, but they had lost much in doing so, and every being in the Alpha Quadrant knew it. 

That was the nice thing about a starship, realized Captain Armus Riccen. It was like an enclosed shell, a private world. The beings on it were as the inhabitants of an isolated village, and they could let in what they chose and shut out what they chose. He smiled at this realization, smiled even further at noticing that the beings assembled before him stood proudly and eagerly, not showing any trace of post-war fatigue. 

Tall and proud, slim of frame with creamy wood-brown hair, he had ascended to the rank of Captain only weeks ago, and this was his first command. He had served for years as a first officer, though, and had studied his captain the whole time. He had learned much about the art of leadership. He would do well. 

He stepped toward the podium in the briefing room, smiling briefly at his crew as he cast his eyes down at the screen in the center of the podium and the letter-directive upon it. His eyes were stopped midway in their journey, however, by the sight of the one in the center of the assembled officers. He looked back up, did a double-take. Tall and muscular, a yellow turtleneck beneath his gray-and-black uniform jacket, with two rank pips on his collar, a Klingon stood between a human male-- his first officer, given the red turtleneck he wore and his three rank pips-- and a Betazoid female. _Damn!_ Riccen thought, _They would give me a Klingon! Filthy..._

He let that thought drift off before it wiped the smile from his face, cast his eyes once again down at the words on his podium screen that he was expected to read. "To Captain Armus Riccen," he began, his voice steady and confident. "You are hereby requested and required to take command, _U.S.S. Olympus_. Signed, Fleet Admiral William Ross." 

Another grin cracked Riccen's face. He knew of Ross. The man had served meritoriously during the Dominion War, had known Benjamin Sisko himself. He had been promoted to Fleet Admiral following the retirement of many of Starfleet's senior admirals at the conclusion of the war and the unfortunate death of Admiral Doherty during the war in an incident with the Son'a. 

He looked up, then, stepped from behind the podium to greet his crew. He kept his face a smiling mask, but behind his eyes there was a burning anger. _I'm going to have to shake hands with the Klingon first! Curses!_

But he did, and never let his eyes waver from that warrior gaze, cold as space but hot with bloody passion, and never let his smile drop, even when the Klingon bared his hideous fangs in a return smile. Armus Riccen took a glimmer of pride in that achievement, but was nevertheless overjoyed when he released the Klingon's hand and it was over. 

He then shook hands with his First Officer. Mentally, he tried to call the man to mind. Thomas Traxor, his name was. He was said to be ambitious, but had almost enough skill to back up his ambition. He had started a complete unknown in the echelons of the Fleet, but had risen fairly steadily during the war years, though how much of that was based on talent and how much based on shortage of manpower Riccen did not know. He would make it a point to find out, he vowed to himself. About Traxon, and about the rest of this crew that had been assigned to him-- or rather, to whom he'd been assigned. 

All would go well on this ship. Provided the damned Klingon didn't screw it up.   
  


_Captain's Log, Starship Olympus_

_ Having survived the introduction session, my orders are now to guide the _Olympus_ on its shakedown cruise. The orders are fairly simple: Fly to the planet Galatech IV and use sensors to search for a missing Klingon scoutship that failed to return from a mission there. The ship is presumed destroyed by the Klingon government, so the findings we expect are debris-- or nothing. At the same time, we're to test our weapons systems against unarmed target drones._

_ I remain enthusiastic about the _Olympus_-- a very impressive ship-- and most of my crew. I expect the coming days will prove interesting and fulfilling._

There was almost a sense of romance about sitting in the captain's chair for the first time. Armus Riccen could feel it about him as he did just that. Over the course of the next few minutes, he watched his flight control officer-- a blond, average-faced lieutenant named Prescott-- enter the room, salute, and take his station, watched the Klingon-- damn him-- do the same, and then his First Officer, Traxor, came and sat in the seat beside him. Riccen was just beginning to realize that one place was still unfilled on the bridge when the door opened again. 

A tallish woman with dark brown-black hair tied back in a ponytail stood in the door. She had dark brown eyes that bordered on blackness and held a kind of warmth in them, a thin face, and wore a Starfleet uniform with a yellow turtleneck and three rank pips on it, the third of them a black circle rimmed in gold. _The Betazoid from the briefing room!_ Riccen realized. He also realized that he didn't know her name. 

"Identify yourself!" he snapped, standing from his seat and getting a surprised look from Traxor at the suddenness of it. 

The woman saluted, bringing a tan-skinned hand to her equally tan-skinned forehead. "Sir, Lieutenant Commander Adlia Morens, reporting as ordered!" 

_That's right_, he remembered. _Morens was her name_. He had read her file, of course, as he had read the files of all his senior staff before they came aboard. She was said to be intelligent and very competent, her only major problem being occasional overconfidence and overeagerness. He smiled wryly, for he had had similar traits once. 

He shook away the memories of his past. They would do him no good now. He needed to focus. "Very well, Commander. Take your station." He sat back down. 

He touched a button at the side of his chair, flipped on the intercom. "To all senior officers: I want reports as soon as your departments are flight-worthy. Make it quick. I want to be away as soon as possible." 

To his surprised pleasure, the reports began to come in fairly quickly after that. 

"This is Commander Corgon," came the pleasant female voice, "Medical department is go." 

"This is Lieutenant Toleron," reported the arrogant-sounding Tellarite voice, "Engineering is ready to fly." 

"Ops is ready, Captain," came Morens's voice from behind him. 

"Flight Control, ready," said Prescott, in an even, unremarkable voice. 

"Tactical department is ready, sir," came the grating, confident Klingon voice from above him. 

Before he had given a silent nod as each report of readiness came through. Now he kept his face stiff and straight. Traxor noticed this, wondered at it briefly, then decided it was best not to inquire, at least for now. Not on the bridge. 

When all the reports had come in, he took a moment to compose himself. He wanted this moment to be perfect. He had waited so long... 

"Commander Morens, activate the viewscreen." 

The screen in front of them blinked to life, showing the stars ahead and the metal prongs of stardock on either side of them. Armus Riccen nodded. Now for the critical order. 

"Lieutenant Prescott." 

"Yes, sir," came the answer, as unremarkable of voice and tone as his earlier affirmation of readiness. 

"Take us out," he commanded, relishing every word, and bitterly sorry when it was over. He had waited so long, and the moment had been so brief... 

He watched on the viewscreen as the ship began to move forward, the lines of metal that were their confining stardock disappearing at the edges of the viewscreen. Finally, the screen showed nothing but white studded space. The ship accelerated then, jumping forward in a burst of motion. Stars became multicolored lines... and the _Olympus_ soared off to adventure.   
  


**_Chapter 2_**

Commander Thomas Traxor stopped at the door to the holodeck. Here, he knew, he would find the one he was looking for, using the hours of their voyage to Galatech IV to engage in some form of recreation. The Captain had sent him to retrieve the one he sought, and, while he knew that such tasks were generally given to First Officer, he had seen the captain's earlier display on the bridge-- and the look that came over his face when the Klingon first stepped onto the bridge-- and wondered if personal dislike might not also play a role. He would hate to be in this Klingon's shoes right now, he reflected, and then shook that thought off quickly. He had his own problems to attend to. 

So far, no one had figured him out, but that could change at any time... 

"Computer, open door to Holodeck One, authorization Traxor alpha gamma one seven." 

There was a beep, the door opened, he stepped through-- and found himself in a smoky lounge looking like something out of the sixties. Tables were all about, a single candle burning brightly in the center of each one. There was a stage at the front, with the blue letters _Vic Fontaine_ on the wall behind it, and a man-- a hologram, Traxor realized-- stood on the stage, singing. 

_"Here's to those who love not wisely, no, not wisely, but too well..."_

What Traxor was concerned with, however, was the room's sole non-holographic occupant, who sat at the center table, head resting on his hand, looking lost in thought. Traxor strode over and took the seat next to him, marking as he did so how much the confidence in his walk echoed his father's. 

He leaned over, so as not to disrupt the performance, and near-whispered, "Lieutenant Kargh?" 

The Klingon looked over at him, and Traxor marked the thin, almost ovoid face that ended at the top in a near-point, the black hair that flowed down in a mane from his head, the cold-hot brown eyes, the thin lips pressed into a frown. "Yes, sir?" he answered, with Klingon formality edged with a note of sadness. 

"We're going to be arriving at Galatech within the hour. The Captain wants you up at the bridge to test the weapons systems." 

"I will be there on time, sir." 

Commander Traxor nodded and got up to leave, was stopped when Kragh raised a hand. "Is there something more you wanted, Lieutenant?" 

"This music. It is enchanting. It came from your Earth, did it not?" 

Traxor nodded, growing mildly uncomfortable with the conversation. "This is Earth, all right. Early to mid twentieth century. A very interesting time." 

"It must have been filled with lonely people," Kragh returned, and there was no mistaking the somber note in his voice. 

Traxor's discomfort increased. "How do you figure that?" he asked. 

"The music. Every song is about love-- many of them about lost love. They could only be written by the lonely." 

Traxor laughed. "You may have a point, Lieutenant. I'll see you on the bridge." 

This time Kragh let him leave, and he was glad of it. In light of the conversation they'd just had, however, Traxor could not help hearing the last words the lounge singer-- Fontaine, his name was-- sang before he left: "_Here's to the losers, bless them all!"_   
  


Overmind Rel, of the Nesxrixt Brood, always enjoyed the capture. He loved coming out of the night, out of nowhere, taking the prey ships by surprise. He loved the chase-- which he knew to be hopeless, but his enemies did not, loved imagining their faces as his ship and its weapons and defenses adapted to or got around every trick they used to try to defeat them and get away from them. He loved watching them run The Maze, and loved perhaps most of all The Conversion, the breaking down and re-forming of the minds of the prey into things utterly obedient, willing servants and useful tools of the Mortrem. 

Of course, The Captured would never command a ship. They were too lowly. The most they could hope for was to command a drone-body, one of the scout/warriors that the Mortrem used to do the physical work of their species. Only true Mortrem-- those born of their species, on their homeworlds, would ever command a starship, overseeing the activities of all the Captured minds on the ship and picking and striking at targets, finding new minds to perpetuate the Mortrem race and aid them in their conquest. 

Soon they would control it all. 

These new prey were proving to be particularly fun. He had learned from their minds, once he got them into The Maze, that they called themselves "Klingons". A race of warriors, believing in blunt, open-handed honesty (often _literally_ open-handed), constant preparedness, and valor in combat. They would serve well as Captured... if they could survive The Maze. If not... then this would be merely another skin type to add to the Mortrem breeding pools. 

Of course, in their present form, these Klingons were no match for the Mortrem. That had already been proven. Their scoutship had been taken easily enough, and when they had transported the Klingons to their ship and the inevitable struggle had ensued, they had been subdued easily enough. But with Mortrem technology at their disposal... 

If Overmind Rel could have smiled, inside the giant, liquid filled case that contained the brain that was his only form now, he would have. He was going to enjoy the coming days greatly.   
  


They reverted to impulse speeds two thousand kilometers from Galatech IV. Immediately, Captain Riccen began issuing brisk orders. 

"Commander Morens, begin a sweep of nearby space for the scoutship. Lieutenant Kargh, launch weapons drones and commence firing phasers." 

Riccen watched on the viewscreen as the drones were launched, watched as beams of red light lanced out from his starship, watched as, one by one, they found their targets. Weapons systems working perfectly. The surprise, however, came from the Ops station. 

"Captain, I'm picking up the wreckage of a Kligon scoutship!" came Commander Morens's agitated call. 

"Where?" Riccen asked, standing up from his seat and turning to face her. 

She tapped keys on her console. "This is the strange part-- it seems to be on the planet." 

Captain Riccen rubbed his chin thoughtfully with a hand. "You say it's wreckage? Are you sure the Klingons didn't just land?" 

"That is not how Klingons do it," came Lieutenant Kargh's brisk answer. "If they wished to explore the planet, they would send down warriors. Taking the ship in would be a last resort!" 

Riccen turned a smoldering glare on his tactical officer. "I was talking to Commander Morens! In the future, you will keep silent unless I ask for your input!" 

The Klingon looked crestfallen. Riccen knew full well about their system of honor and realized that, with the reprimand, Kargh had probably just lost some. _Good,_ Riccen thought, _it's no less than he deserves!_ "Commander Morens, are there any Klingon life-forms on the planet?" 

She tapped keys again. "I can't tell, sir! The planet's magnetic field makes getting life readings difficult! It seems to be a desert world, though, so there shouldn't be much indigenous life." 

Riccen sighed. "Well, we need to test the shuttles anyway, and I suppose we should find out if there are any Klingon survivors. Commander, take Lieutenant Kargh-- he's the expert on Klingon technology-- and a shuttlecraft and go find out what happened to that ship. Bring back any survivors. Understood?" 

"Yes, sir," she replied, and she strode confidently through the back door and off the bridge, followed by Lieutenant Kargh. 

The relief that washed through Riccen when the Klingon left his bridge was almost palpable.   
  


_**Chapter 3**_

The shuttle's departure from the _Olympus_ could not have been more perfect. The shuttle did not malfunction, the doors opened perfectly, and Lt. Commander Morens was an extremely capable pilot. Once outside the ship and its protective force-fields, the passengers sat in silence for a time. Finally, however, Lieutenant Kargh broke the silence. 

"Perhaps they can keep it under control..." he mused, more to himself, really, than to Commander Morens. 

"What?" Morens asked. Though she was a Betazoid and a capable mind-reader, the Betazoid had strict ethical protocols on the use of that talent, and tended not to use it in casual circumstances unless there was a need. Through such niceties, Betazoids had largely overcome the suspicion and resentfulness that was a constant companion of most mind-reading species. 

"The militarism. Perhaps the Federation can keep it under control more ably than the Klingons could." 

Morens snorted gently, for this very subject had been a thick cloud hanging at the back of her thoughts for several years now, almost since the end of the war. "Who says it _is_ under control?" 

"The Federation is largely non-military. Even in Starfleet," Kargh responded. 

"It used to be," she replied. "Now it's become... twisted. Even corrupt. Federation starships are quicker to take military action, designed to be tougher militarily rather than better scientifically. The whole purpose of the _Defiant_-class ships is war! Starfleet is rotting from the inside, and it will take the Federation with it!" 

"You are mistaken. The Federation is becoming prepared-- and rightly so. Your society is nowhere near to being warlike. If you do not believe me, spend time on a Klingon vessel. It would quickly convince you." 

She laughed lightly. "But we're heading there. People are beginning to forget. Most Federation member-worlds have bloody histories. Earth, Vulcan, and Andoria are three very prominent proofs of that. But they overcame it. They became peaceful, and vowed not to return to their old ways of violence. The problem is that within every society, people eventually begin to forget. The paranoia wears off. They relax, become comfortable. They tell themselves, 'well, maybe if I only step _this_ far over the line, it'll be ok.' The problem is, soon they've stepped so far over, in little steps, that they can't even _see_ the line anymore!" 

"I cannot agree with that," Kargh answered adamantly. "The best societies adapt to meet the times. Old America, back on Earth, did that. Klingon society adapted to the ways of peace so that it could survive and deal prosperously with neighboring societies. The Federation is now adapting, as well. The times are changing, and your government is changing to meet them. As long as they don't go too far, it is to be embraced, not feared." 

"You're looking at the short term, Lieutenant," she said, and she heard and disliked the distance the use of his formal title put between them. "They may not go too far _now_, but after enough time passes, they will go too far. In little steps, but they'll get there. There are certain steps a government should not take, even to protect itself." 

Kargh's face wrinkled as he considered this. "In the Klingon Empire, the philosophy has always been fight-to-the-end. Protect yourself at all costs, save loss of honor. I, however, do not fully agree with that philosophy. There may be truth to your words. You must acknowledge, however, that there may also be truth in mine." 

She pursed her lips, considered for a moment. "Perhaps." 

There was a pause, then, which she broke. "Is that why you joined the Federation?" 

He smiled, a warrior's grin, edged with secrecy. "Partly." 

At that moment, the currents of the atmosphere buffeted their shuttlecraft, and conversation ended as they set to work preparing to land.   
  


Overmind Rel saw. From his ship's safe position behind the moon of the planet these beings called "Galatech IV", he saw the saucer-headed ship arrive, saw it launch its tiny pod-craft, saw the craft head for the planet. From the images and information he'd gotten from the minds of some of the captured Klingons, he knew these must be representatives of the group they called "The Federation". 

Their arrival, while it meant that local governments suspected something was amiss, could be very useful indeed. 

Overmind Rel made a decision then. He would send teams down to intercept and capture whatever life-forms were in the pod-craft. And he would take his ship to engage the Federation craft, measure it, test its defenses. Then, once that was done, once he had some idea of the difficulty the Mortrem would encounter in taking this galaxy, he would summon the rest of Brood Nesxrixt. 

Yes, that was what he would do. The Emperor would be most pleased with them for this acquisition.   
  


They landed without trouble, just a bit of bouncing around in the ship. They donned environment suits and headed out. A quarter of an hour later, they were standing in front of the wreckage of a downed _B'rel_-class Klingon scoutship. A very strange looking scoutship. 

"What the...?" came Morens's question, her voice filtered by the helmet. 

"Something happened to this ship," came Kargh, and there was no mistaking the warrior's tone in his voice, even with the filtering, "This was no ordinary crash." 

There were strange, green, organic looking growths on various parts of the ship. Things even seemed to be moving on the growths, indicating that something was still alive there. What was more, something in their placement looked deliberate. 

Kargh noticed it quickly. "This was not random. The points hit are strategic." 

Morens looked again and saw that he was definitely right. The impulse engines had been deliberately hit, as had the area of the ship that contained the warp core. The weapons systems had taken a beating, and a huge glob of the organic matter was stuck to the bridge. Definitely deliberate. "If this was done purposely, that would suggest something intelligent did it." 

Kargh nodded. "But we saw no other ships or life-forms from space. Which means that whatever did this either did it some time ago and is now gone-- or is still lurking about somewhere." 

Commander Morens nodded, then shivered, the earlier argument about whether or not the Federation was becoming too military coming to mind as she asked her next question. "Weapons out, do you think?" 

Obviously, Kargh remembered their conversation, too, for their was a glint in his eye as he replied. "Good idea." 

They drew their phaser rifles and proceeded cautiously into the ship, searching for survivors of whatever had overtaken the vessel.   
  


**_Chapter 4_**

"Captain, there's a subspace disturbance appearing two hundred kilometers ahead of us! Looks almost like a wormhole!" called the lieutenant who had taken Morens's place at the Ops station. 

Riccen snapped to alertness. "Onscreen! Keep an eye on it! It may explain what happened to the Klingons!" 

The disturbance snapped into view-- and it did, indeed, look somewhat like what he remembered of the Bajoran Wormhole, but only somewhat-- and in the center of it was unmistakably a white dot. 

No sooner had Riccen noticed this than the lieutenant spoke again. "There's something coming from the disturbance! I think it's a ship!" 

"Confirm that, Lieutenant!" Riccen shouted, and under all the layers of alertness, this thought ran through his head: _Perhaps this _is _what happened to the Klingons! Perhaps they finally met an enemy they couldn't match!_ The idea elated him, for it seemed somehow... fitting. 

"Shall we go to yellow alert, Captain?" asked the lieutenant who was filling in for Kargh. 

He held up a hand to forestall this action. "Not yet." 

Over the course of the next minute, the "wormhole" vanished and the ship came into clearer view. It was a lump of metal, semi-ovoid in shape, with various bumps and decorations. Ringing it from both sides in something of a figure-eight pattern were small, greenish, circular lumps that looked distinctly organic. On both sides of the ship were large strips of organic, fleshy material that were a slightly darker green than the creatures. 

"Lieutenant," Riccen called, on sudden inspiration, "magnify by a factor of ten." 

The magnification confirmed his suspicions. The greenish lumps that encircled the ship squirmed. They were _alive_. 

"What sort of a ship is this?" Riccen asked, more to himself than anyone else. No one answered this question. After a pause, he called, "Are there any life-forms aboard?" 

A brief pause while the Ops lieutenant checked this. "There seem to be large numbers of life-forms aboard. What's odd is-- none of it seems humanoid." 

"Then what is it?" Riccen asked. 

"Can't tell," the lieutenant responded after a pause. "There's some sort of energy field just within the ship that obstructs our readings." 

Riccen paused, rubbing his chin with his hand. This was curious indeed. "Send a standard greeting. Just to see what it does." 

"No reply," came the Tactical lieutenant. There was a pause, and then, a moment later... "Captain! Something seems to be forming on the side of the ship! From one of the strips of organic material!" 

Indeed, even as Riccen looked, some of it was expanding, shaping itself, forming itself into... "A missile!" cried the Tactical lieutenant. 

"Evasive action!" Riccen snapped, disappointed with himself for the slight trace of panic that he had allowed to seep through into his voice. "Shields up!" 

The missile came flying, impacted against the shields-- and was stopped by them. A spontaneous cheer erupted from the bridge crew, which Riccen held up a hand to forestall. He could not allow them to grow overconfident. 

"Shall I return fire?" asked the Tactical lieutenant-- Kragge, his name was. 

"Not yet. Re-send the greeting. Let's give them one more chance. In the meantime, science department, run a full bio-spectrum analysis of that missile. I want to know everything about the material it's composed of!" 

No sooner had Riccen finished saying this, however, than he noticed something else on the viewscreen. A door at the bottom of the ship seemed to have opened-- and swarms of small _somethings_ were flying out. "Lieutenant Ridell," he called to the officer at the Ops station, "What the heck are _those_?" 

"Insects, sir... they seem to be... insects," Ridell replied incredulously. 

"Captain," Kragge commented, "I strongly advise evading those creatures. We have no reason to believe they are friendly." 

"Agreed," Riccen decided. "Helm, evasive maneuvers, immediately. Get us close enough to the planet to send a message through the magnetic field! I want our away team to come home immediately. If we can't get a message through, we'll beam them out and forget the shuttlecraft!" 

Even as Riccen watched, though, more bugs emerged from the alien ship, pursuing them from new angles. More came. More. More...   
  


Overmind Rel tapped into the receiver units of the soldiers he'd sent down to the planet. If he'd wanted to, of course, he could conceivably have taken control of the soldier-bodies from the Captured minds that controlled them. However, he did not wish to usurp power in this way. All he wanted was to watch. The shipboard sensors kept constant track of the lifeforms on the planet, and relayed information on their movements to him. It informed him when they had entered the ship. He let them proceed for a moment unabated, then he gave the order for his soldiers to be beamed down. 

He loved watching the inevitably shocked reactions that came from beings not of the Mortrem upon their first encounter with Mortrem bodies. Perfect melds of the organic and the technological, they were truly fearsome. Their organic bodies contained within them the finest genetic and physical attributes of every species that they had ever made a part of themselves, their fearsome armor-suits, laced with the energy-absorbing _boren_ creatures, were versatile enough to allow Mortrem bodies to do almost any practical job, and many impractical ones. 

On this first encounter, he wanted their armor-shields down, their _boren_ dormant. This would be a test of many things. First, it would be a test of fighting ability, and willingness to fight. Second, it would be a test of whether or not these creatures believed that the Mortrem possessed the one weakness that almost every other species they had encountered possessed. 

Rel gave the order, and two of his Captured minds had their drone-bodies attack. One attacked the large figure leading the group, the other, the slighter one. The first shoved his attacker aside, able to do this because Rel had also ordered this initial attack to be done without weapons. The second was briefly shocked. Rel saw through their suits to the faces of both, and a torrent of rage ran through his brain-mass. One of them was a Klingon! He did not need more Klingons to test. The other, though-- and this one appeared female-- seemed shocked for some reason, and hesitated to attack. Her soldier tackled her to the ground. The Klingon, however, quickly unholstered his energy weapon-- the Klingons he had captured had called similar weapons '_disruptors_'-- and shot it. The shot went through, the _boren_ being asleep. The drone body fell over, dead. 

These two killings were all the confirmation Rel needed. These species, whatever other strengths or weaknesses they might possess, had the key weakness that the Mortrem used against their enemies. They believed death halted all. If Rel could have, he would have smiled. For most species, physical death was the end of existence. The Mortrem, however, for whom bodies were merely a means by which to do physical work, possessed no such limitation. Their life-force was contained entirely in their minds, and only by destroying the mind could one truly be killed. Otherwise, they could simply take control of a new body as soon as one was produced-- and the Spawning Pools aboard every Mortrem ship could produce and armor them quite rapidly. Thus, enemies of the Mortrem could take out one assault force-- even a large one-- only to have it instantly supplanted by another. 

The Klingon, however, tore Overmind Rel from his thoughts. He did something completely rash and unexpected. He pulled a dagger from where it hung at his side-- a _mek'leth_, the other Klingons had called them in their thoughts-- and charged the ranks of Rel's soldiers. He ordered the Captured minds to have their bodies put up a fight, but only enough of one to test this Klingon's resistance and strength. They fought, and at the end Rel allowed one to draw his _skisk_-- a vicious weapon that was half blade and half projectile. All, however, were defeated, and rather swiftly, in the Klingon's murderous rage. Rel almost smiled again. Now the true battle would begin. 

These enemies were in for a surprise. 

Within seconds, before these enemies had gotten more than five feet from the bodies of the soldiers they had "killed", the new soldier-bodies were ready to go. They beamed down, under the control of the same minds as had been the previous group-- though of course these beings had no way of knowing that. This time, both the Klingon and the female of species unknown pulled out their energy weapons and fired. Where before the shots had gone clean through, however, this time they were absorbed as a blue energy field shot out to meet the incoming bolts. 

Rel smiled inwardly. _Boren_ were such wonderful creatures. Supplied with energy by a mechanical device implanted inside them when they were spawned, they had one function only-- whenever they felt energy beams come within a certain distance of them, they automatically produced a bio-mechanical energy field to block them. Because they were mechanically powered, they could do this almost indefinitely, and could counter beams of almost any power. The shots were absorbed instantly. 

The adversaries reset their weapons and fired again. Some of the Captured wanted to take them, then and there, but Rel told them to wait. He wanted them to be utterly frustrated before they were taken, just so they would know exactly how hopeless was their cause. It always helped in the Turning for the mind to be as weak as possible. 

The blasts came again, and were, again, absorbed. Now Rel allowed the Captured to bring their _skisk_s to bear. The soldier-bodies set their weapons to stun and fired. The enemies tried to flee, and, indeed, the first few shots missed, but in the end, the Mortrems's aim was truer than the enemies's feet. As Rel had known it would be. 

They went down, and lay unconscious on the deck of the enemy ship, waiting for the Mortrem to retrieve them.   
  


**_Chapter 5_**

The bugs continued to swarm from the alien ship. 

"Lieutenant Kragge, fire three torpedoes into space on vectors directly behind us, to our port side, and on a vector that bisects those two! Have them explode when they reach a distance of fifty meters from this ship. Helm, take us to full impulse, I want to dodge as much of the blast as possible!" Captain Riccen ordered 

The torpedoes fired, and exploded, and, as Riccen had hoped, many of the bugs were destroyed in the blast. The _Olympus_, however, also shook, having absorbed part of the shockwave. "Damage report!" Riccen demanded. 

Kragge gave it to him. "Shields down to eighty-five percent! Minor plasma leak on deck three!" 

"Get an engineering team on it!" Riccen ordered. 

"Already done, sir," Kragge answered. 

"Sir!" Ridell reported. "I've got Commander Morens' and Lieutenant Kargh's lifesigns! They're-- they're aboard the alien vessel! Wait a minute-- Kragh just stopped showing up." 

Riccen whirled to face his officer, and Riccen hoped the other man couldn't read the hints of secret pleasure that were mixed in with the shock of this news. "Get a lock on Commander Morens!" he ordered, composing his facial expression quickly. _Good, good, mustn't show fear... not this early..._

A buzzing emitted from Ridell's console. "I can't, sir! There's some kind of intense energy interfering with the lock!" 

"Compensate!" Riccen ordered. 

"I'm trying!" 

"Captain! There's another missile launching from the ship! This one has some kind of strange energy field around it!" Kragge reported. 

"Bring shields to full, try to shoot it out of the sky!" Riccen ordered. 

"No evasives?" asked Lieutenant Prescott, at the helm, in the same unremarkable voice he had been using since Riccen had first met him. 

"Not yet. I don't want anything to interfere with Lieutenant Ridell's lock attempts." 

The phasers missed, for, amazingly, as they shot, the weapon dodged. Not accidental course changes, but deliberate avoidance of the counteroffensive. _These things, whatever they are, have smart weapons..._ A thrill of fear ran through Riccen then. 

The fear increased and mixed with frustration at what happened next. The missile encountered the shields, just as the one previous had-- but it did not stop there. Instead, it went straight through the energy fields that protected the _Olympus_, ignoring them as if they weren't there. 

The ship shook, and there was an accompanying loud noise. 

"Damage report!" Riccen ordered. 

"Impulse power down to fifty percent!" Riddell reported. "Hull breach on deck one! We have some kind of biomatter covering a portion of our ship! It's identical to the stuff on the sides of the alien vessel!" 

"Have you had any luck with the lock?" Riccen asked. 

"No! Whatever the energy field is the aliens are using to block us, its incredibly strong! I can't get her!" 

Riccen sighed. "Red alert! All hands to battlestations! Keep an active sensor lock on that alien ship! Mr. Prescott-- prepare to retreat, warp two!"   
  


The sight of the things holding her arms in viselike grips at once horrified, intrigued, and frightened Adlia Morens. Horrified, because they were horrible beyond all belief, worse than nightmares, with powerful bodies made of what looked like thick hides, large and intimidating faces covered in metal masks with eyes that glowed white, powerful armor surrounded by the round green creatures that had repelled their phaser shots, and long, prehensile tails that ended in sharp points that Morens was sure were filled with poison. Intrigued, because they were a new species, and her credo was to seek out new life and new civilizations, after all. And frightened because of what she got from their minds. It was not that she sensed evil thoughts-- though what she could gather of their intentions seemed malevolent-- but rather that she could not clearly get any thoughts at all. All she could get were the muddled residue of thoughts, emotions, and ideas, as if she were trying to make out the outline of a person's face through translucent glass that bordered on opacity. 

Inexorably the young Betazoid woman was dragged by her captors toward whatever destination they had in mind for her. They had pushed back the helmet of her environment suit, so that her face was now exposed to the open air-- and there was air here, wherever _here_ was-- and her hair hung free. She felt nervous, and she knew her face was awash with sweat. She looked to both sides, expecting and hoping to find Lieutenant Kragh being similarly dragged, but he was not there. She was on her own. _Where did they take him? Is he still alive?_ She reached out with her mind, searching for his thoughts with her telepathic abilities-- but found nothing. Then again, the buzzing from the minds of the aliens around her and the strange energies she could feel emanating through this place might well be interfering with her ability to seek out her comrade. 

They dragged her through corridor after corridor, passing more and more of the armored aliens. Finally, they came to a door, which hissed open when they came close enough. Adlia Morens was led into a room-- and what she saw there terrified her. 

It was not truly a room so much as it was a ledge, a ledge leading to a drop that must have been hundreds or thousands of feet. She looked upward, and there was an equal amount of distance between her and the ceiling. The chamber-- if that was what it was-- was circular, and lined with huge tanks of light-greenish fluid. Some of the tanks were empty, but most contained large, wrinkled, squishy lumps of gray matter that looked very much like brains. 

In the center of the room, in a huge, circular gray tank that stretched from floor to ceiling, was the largest brain of all, and powerful neural energies resonated from it, creating a mental earthquake that rumbled throughout the chamber, throwing Morens' mind into turmoil. 

"What are you?" she called, knowing the thing could hear and understand. 

_You are aliens. Of this place_, came the voice in her mind. _We will study you. Learn of you. If you are strong enough, your mind will become of the Captured class, and command our drone-bodies._

"What do you want here?" 

_Territory. Glory and wealth for Brood Nesxrixt. The enhancement of our genetic code. You will teach us of this place. We will learn. We will conquer. We will incorporate the best things of you into us._

"I cannot allow that," she responded, putting more bravery into her voice than she felt. "Our mission is one of peace. Perhaps a treaty can be negotiated." 

_There can be no treaty. You are singular. You die. You will become like us, not the other way around. The only question is what you have to offer us._

It overwhelmed her, then, launched a mental assault so complete and devastating that she was powerless against it. It trampled through her mind, breaking down defenses and barriers of secrecy, its energies bombarding the most remote corners of her mind. She sensed that it was pulling information from her, information that it could use against the Federation, but, at the same time, she was able to learn things about it. This species was called the Mortrem. The Captured were soldier-brains, minds that once belonged to other species but had been somehow twisted to cooperate with the Mortrem. The brain in the center, the one whose mind was currently linked with her own, was a born Mortrem. He controlled the ship, commanded the Captured. 

She knew it had found out she could read minds. But she also knew that, in spite of this, it rejected her. Her powers were weak, it thought. Their telepathic abilities already exceeded what she could offer them. Betazoid genetic code would be of no use to them. 

The bombarding grew more and more intense. After a time, it felt as if portions of her mind were being shut down. Then she felt half-asleep, then as if she had just been punched in the stomach. Then, finally, she lost all ability to think, and fell into blackness.   
  


Captain Armus Riccen paced his bridge, unsure of what to do. "Commander Morens and Lieutenant Kargh may still be alive over there," he said to his bridge crew. "We can't just abandon them." 

They had retreated a distance of five light-years, keeping the ship in an active sensor lock. Thus far, it still orbited Galatech IV, but how long that would last, no one knew. 

"Well," said Kragge, "Obviously, destroying the ship is not an option. Our people are aboard it, and those Klingons from the scoutship may be, too." 

"Indeed," said Riccen. "What we need is a rescue mission." 

"I have a feeling, sir," said Ridell, "that that energy field we detected inside the ship is there to prevent things from beaming on without permission. I doubt we'll have much luck getting in there with our transporters." 

"Then we need another idea," said Riccen. "Suggestions?" 

No one had any.   
  


Lieutenant Commander Adlia Morens had no idea where she was, nor could she remember how she had gotten there. She was in a nondescript corridor, gray in color, just short enough that she could see that both right and left turns were possible at the end. She took a step forward, and, as she did so, her foot kicked something. Looking down, she saw that it was an energy weapon of some sort. Looking over at her side, she realized that her own energy weapon was not there. Her eyes fell then to where her commbadge should be, only to realize that it, too, was missing. 

She realized that this was not surprising, given that the last memory she did have was of her mental attack by the gigantic alien brain after her capture. Understanding that she must still be in enemy hands, she decided she would do well to pick up the energy weapon. Her heart chilled, however, at the fact that there was one to be picked up at all. This species knew what energy weapons were, and presumably knew enough of Federation technology to know that they used them. They were tactically smart, and obviously cruel-- she understood now that they had played with Lieutenant Kargh and herself before capturing them, probably testing their abilities and their reactions. _They would not make so obvious a slip, which means that this, too, is a test._

No sooner had she thought this than a muscular, humanoid being with charcoal black skin and bright red eyes rounded the corner from the left. Morens barely had time to wonder what this was, for it was very different from the soldier-bodies the Mortrem seemed to use, when intense red beams shot from those eyes.   
  


**_To Be Continued..._**


End file.
